


Sauce for the Goose

by Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Character Study, F/M, Fifteen Minute Fic, Frustration, Gen, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-08
Updated: 2009-05-08
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Culmer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny let Harry go for a reason.  But in her first days back at Hogwarts, she's having trouble remembering what that was, and her new status as a hostage isn't helping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sauce for the Goose

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the 5/4/09 [15_minute_fic](http://15_minute_fic.livejournal.com) word #109. It may be of dubious canonicity, since I only read DH one-and-a-quarter times (and that was nearly two years ago), but I could not get my imagination out of the Gryffindor common room. So it was either this or decidedly non-canon porn, and I can't write porn in 15 minutes. *wry*

Ginny sat in a corner of the common room -- the corner that used to belong to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, at least unofficially -- and stared at the wall.

She should never have let him go. She should never have come back to Hogwarts. What was the point of it? Yes, he needed to pay attention to Voldemort, not to her, but that didn't mean she'd needed to break up with him. That was like those 'Dear John' letters women used to write to Muggle soldiers, saying things like, "You've been away so long, and I'm lonely, so I've taken up with Jim from down the road, sorry about that," and leaving the soldiers with one fewer reason to stay alive and come home.

Well. Not quite as bad as all that, but still, what had she been _thinking?_

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Ginny muttered balefully to herself, and slouched deeper in the armchair. If she closed her eyes and imagined with all her might, she thought she could almost still smell Harry, from where his hair had rested on the chair's top, his hands on its arms, his robes on its back and seat. He smelled of soap and boy-sweat, and always a hint of sky... and something subtler, a hint of fire and steel mixed in with the sharp green scent of leaves after the thunder passed.

It was only imagination, of course. House elves cleaned far too thoroughly to leave scents lingering after months of summer.

She didn't know where Harry was. She didn't know where her brother was, either, but she hadn't told Ron they weren't siblings anymore, so it wasn't-- it wasn't unfinished between them. He knew where he stood with her. Harry might not. What if he thought she didn't want him anymore, when he won, when he came back? What if he went beyond her, somehow? What if -- oh, it was stupid, but she couldn't help worrying -- what if she wasn't worthy of him?

Ginny kicked her feet irritably against the chair legs and bit her lip.

She was trapped at Hogwarts. She didn't know where Harry was. She didn't know what he was looking for. She had no way to help him.

Ginny clenched her hand on the wooden curve of the chair's arm. She wanted to see Harry's smile, to hear his voice, to touch his hair, to kiss him, to share the air in his lungs and the beat of his heart. She wanted him with an aching, leaden need that weighted her down until some days she wanted nothing more than to sit, motionless, and remember him.

_What_ had she been thinking when she gave him up?

Stupid question. She'd been thinking of this, of course. It was all right if _she_ wallowed. She was stuck in a school run by Death Eaters, watched like a hawk night and day, held as an unofficial hostage for her family's good behavior. What could she do, even if she weren't distracted? But Harry couldn't afford to miss her like she missed him. He had to move, to think, to fly and fight and _win_.

Behind her, near the fire, somebody laughed. Another voice rose for a moment, warning, rebuking, and silence crept back to smother the common room again.

Ginny frowned. They were Gryffindors. How far had they fallen, to let a handful of Death Eaters cow them even in the privacy of their own tower? She remembered the fear that had soaked the castle in her first year, when everyone watched everyone else, wondering which innocuous face might hide the Heir of Slytherin.

At least now they knew who their enemies were. And even if she added all the Slytherins to that count, Voldemort's followers were outnumbered three to one. Why didn't anyone else see that? Why was everyone still cowering?

Ginny opened her hand, shook out her fingers, and turned in the chair to examine her fellow Gryffindors. The first and second years were mostly a liability, at least in terms of magic and fights, but they could pass information and ask questions that would be suspicious coming from the older students. Third years and older could be trained in a pinch, especially since she still had the DA; they could run lessons and plan raids or pranks or other ways to inconvenience or demoralize the Death Eaters in residence. Neville and Luna would help; she knew they would. They'd been prodding at her for weeks now, trying to wake her up, trying to make her stop mooning over Harry.

Harry had to think about Voldemort, not her. Ginny knew that. Harry was fighting a war. But so was she. Why hadn't she taken her own bloody advice from the beginning?

" _Definitely_ stupid," she said as she pried herself out of the armchair and began tracking down Luna and Neville, but this time she was laughing.

That evening, the Hogwarts resistance was born.


End file.
